


Warm-Up

by heytheremisterblue



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-21
Updated: 2019-07-21
Packaged: 2020-07-09 18:51:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19892650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heytheremisterblue/pseuds/heytheremisterblue
Summary: Crowley is cold. Luckily, he’s got a very thoughtful angel who happens to be blazing hot.





	Warm-Up

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t seem to write anything with these boys that exceeds 1,000. Maybe it’s for the best!

The countryside was so quiet in comparison to the ever-busy streets of London which always gnawed at the back of Aziraphale’s hearing. Everywhere he went, cars, people, and other sources of loud blaring were ceaseless. Here, though, nature prevailed. On occasion, when the weather was nice, distant crashing waves and the chirping of bugs and birds were cut with the sound of children playing jubilantly, bike spokes and little rain boot soles against the dirt. 

Another noise quite frequently heard from inside their cottage was the angered muttering of dear Crowley, who had been begged not to shout at his garden but still liked to give them a good scolding once and a while. Aziraphale rolled his eyes from the kitchen as he overheard the trembling of leaves somewhere in their front garden, most likely the poor marigolds that had been failing to thrive this season. He did wish that he would quit threatening them, but it was an uphill battle and one he had tabled for the time being. 

Crowley entered their small home ripe with just a tinge of sweat but also smelling sweet with petrichor from working in the damp flower beds. A spade, then gloves, and finally a large straw hat were set down on a small dresser by the front door. “Whew,” he sighed, relieved to be inside the cozy house again. “Bit chilly out there.”

“Is it?” Aziraphale didn’t look up from his book, though his expression lightened considerably in this new company. “I haven’t noticed.”

“That’s because you’re practically the Sun, Angel.” Stepping his muddy boots off at the door, the demon sauntered over to the couch where Aziraphale sat and allowed himself to plop right down next to him. “Mmm,” he sighed and nestled his bare cheek into the shoulder of the other’s wool sweater, “that’s nice.”

The angel couldn’t help but smile with a brightness that did uncannily resemble the big shining ball in the sky. As an angel he had a tendency to be quite warm—all that love and holiness radiating out of him at all times did the trick. Crowley, sometimes quite literally cold-blooded, erred on the side of freezing at all times. If the term weren’t so uncomfortable for either of them it could be called a match made in Heaven.

Aziraphale’s hand reached out to brush Crowley’s other cheek and he was met with ice. “Good heavens, Crowley, you’re _really_ cold!”

“Aren’t I always cold?”

“Colder than usual,” he responded with just a hint of annoyance, mostly out of concern. As he gazed at his face further he noticed the nip of red that twinged the top of his nose, his cheeks, and the tops of his ears. He had been out there a bit too long, he thought. “Well,” decided the angel, standing up and immediately depositing his book face-down on the coffee table. “We need to get you warmed up.”

“I mean, I’m really alright,” protested Crowley, though there was no stopping his companion as he was already halfway out the den on his way to retrieve the softest and bulkiest blankets that they owned. “W— there’s no need to fuss over me, Aziraphale!” he called after him.

“Nonsense!” the angel yelled from the other room with a warm smile on his face. From a dresser drawer he pulled two blankets, large and heavy, knit from the smoothest yarns, and walked proudly back to the sofa. “Now,” he said, dropping the folded stack onto the empty cushion, “I’m going to wrap you up and you’re going to like it.”

“Nngh…” the demon muttered. His language painted him uncooperative, but he showed a nonverbal eagerness to be cared for as Aziraphale draped the first layer over him, then the second, him sinking a bit further into the couch and curling his lanky legs up under the covers.

“Would you like some cocoa?”

“Not especially. I can think of something I would like, though.”

“What’s that?” Aziraphale waited nervously for the punchline of some cruel joke, but instead was met simply with an outstretched hand that reached for him and pulled him to the couch the moment he grasped it. He laughed joyously.

“I need my personal space heater.”

“Oh, that’s all I am to you, then,” he joked. 

“Yeah, you got me,” Crowley answered as he made room under the blankets for the angel. 

“I feel very used right now.”

“Probably ‘cause you are.”

“Well,” scoffed Aziraphale, reaching again for his book before nestling in again, prepared to be here for the next hour or two, “I suppose I can’t complain. I never thought being used would be so pleasant.”

“You know how dirty that sounds, Angel,” observed Crowley as he leaned his head once more on his shoulder.

“Oh, shut up and nap.”


End file.
